ose,
their outstretched arms outlined against the sky, giving the whole
country the aspect of a cemetery.

At one of the cross-ways, guarded by a colossal image of Christ, she
hesitated between two roads running among thorny slopes.

A child happening to pass, came to her rescue: "Good-day, Mademoiselle
Gaud!"

It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann's wee sisters. Gaud kissed
her and asked her if her parents were at home.

"Father and mother are, yes. But brother Yann," said the little one,
without intent, of course, "has gone to Loguivy; but I don't think he'll
be very late home again."

So he was not there? Again destiny was between them, everywhere and
always. She thought at first of putting off her visit to another day.
But the little lass who had met her might mention the fact. What would
they think at Pors-Even? So she decided to go on, but loitering so as to
give Yann time to return.

As she neared his village, in this lost country, all things seemed
rougher and more desolate. Sea breezes that made men stronger, made
shorter and more stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds were scattered
over the paths, leaves from growths in another element, proving the
existence of a neighbouring world; their briny odour mingled with the
perfume of the heather.

Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk, who could be seen a long
way off, over the bare country, outlined and magnified against the high
sea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the great sea, in passing
her wished her good-day. Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs, manly and
determined under their easy caps.

Time did not go quickly enough, and she really did not know what to do
to lengthen the way; these people seemed surprised at seeing her walk so
slowly.

What could Yann be doing at Loguivy? Courting the girls, perhaps.

Ah! if she only had known how little he troubled his head about them! He
had simply gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket-maker, who was
the only one in the country knowing how to weave lobster pots. His mind
was very free from love just now.

She passed a chapel, at such a height it could be seen remotely. It was
a little gray old chapel in the midst of the barren. A clump of trees,
gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to it, pushed by some
invisible hand all on one side.

It was that same hand that had wrecked the fishers' boats, the eternal
hand of the western winds, and had twisted all the branches o